


Weakness

by bondlikejames96



Series: Anya Grace Hawke [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Blood Magic, F/M, Slight Graphic Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-13
Updated: 2015-12-13
Packaged: 2018-05-06 10:53:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5414153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bondlikejames96/pseuds/bondlikejames96
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As they race towards the Gallows, Anya and Fenris are cornered, and every Templar knows that there is an easy method to taking away a mage's power.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Weakness

The last templar fell beneath a lashing of fire, and Anya took a moment to breathe and to take stock of her companions. To her dismay, Anders was face-down in the dirt a few meters away, his hand outstretched towards Isabela's prone form lying close by. That left only Fenris at her side, his tattoos glowing and blood trickling down over an eyebrow from a gash on his forehead. As the clanging of more armor rang through the alley, Anya steeled herself into a fighting stance, noting that Fenris had moved to protect her back from the alleyway's other entrance.

She saw the templar before he caught a glimpse of her, and had let off a stream of fire by the time his eyes found hers in the dimly-lit alleyway. The templar pushed through it though, his armor protecting him from the worst of the blast, and as he drew his sword it seemed to glow orange, reflecting the flames. His lips pulled back in a feral snarl as he drew closer.

Fenris let out an angry cry as he flew at some unseen opponent that had come from the opposite direction. Anya huffed as she realized that the templar would be hers alone to take down, as Fenris was now occupied for the moment. Another ball of flame conjured in her hand, setting the nerves of her palm alight with warmth and energy. Just as she prepared to condense it and launch it towards the templar, she felt every cell in her body grow cold, and suddenly she felt incredibly empty and small. With the wind knocked out of her lungs, she stared at her palm, realizing that the magic had gone dark. Her knees buckled and she hit the ground with a shocked gasp. She looked up, horrified, and her eyes met the victorious sneer of the templar, who was advancing even closer now that she was devoid of mana.

"So," the man drawled, his eyes alight with triumph, as he raised his blade with both hands over his head. " _The Champion_ falls at last. Easier than I'd thought." Anya pulled her staff in front of her, panicking when she realized that in such a small alley, with Fenris grappling with more enemies at her back, there was nowhere for her to go. "And what will you do now, Serah Hawke?" the man continued, with hardly a meter's distance between them. "You mages think you are invincible, untamable - tell me, how does it feel to be human for once? To know that you are not so powerful as you think, that without your magic you are more weak and insignificant than everyone else?"

Her staff wouldn't be enough to block the blow, she knew that. Fenris was holding off two other templars at this point, and he wouldn't be able to help her.

There was no other option.

One hand slipped beneath her cloak, fingers wrapping firmly around the hilt of her concealed dagger. "We are not your slaves. We will no longer be held under the thumb of the Templars, and _we. Are. Not. Weak._ " Faster than the templar could comprehend, she pulled the dagger out, and in one smooth slice had opened a massive cut across the width of her right forearm. As blood began to spray forth, spattering onto her robes and into the dirt she whispered, "I'm sorry, Fenris," and with a breathless gasp called forth that deep, darkest part of herself that she'd repressed  for years now.

Forbidden magic coursed through her veins, setting everything inside her on fire with incredible power and primal rage and everything she'd been holding back for so long.

Her strength renewed, Anya sent a broad sweeping arc of magic towards the templar, reaching into his very soul and draining him of what life she could. His face grew pale and horrified, lips trembling as he stuttered out, "N-no, _p-please no._ "

"Mages will no longer suffer at your hands," she muttered through gritted teeth, before calling down a pillar of flame onto the templar. He went out in a flash of smoke and screams, just as Fenris dispatched his last opponent with a furious roar and a downward swipe of his greatsword. Anya's back was still to him as he stopped and listened for more immediate threats, but when he'd determined that they were safe for the moment he reached into his own satchel and brought forth his last health potion. With hurried and quiet steps, he approached Anders and knelt in the blood-soaked dirt beside him, uncorking the potion bottle with his teeth. It was only after he'd carefully turned the apostate over and poured the entire potion into his mouth that Anders awakened, coughing violently and holding a hand against his ribcage. When Fenris made a relucant move to help, Anders shook his head quickly and held up his free hand, pooling healing magic into his fingertips. He took a few moments to heal himself, just enough to stand of his own accord.

As he steadied himself with a hand on Fenris's shoulder, a soft blue glow began to emanate from his hands, surrounding each of the party members. Isabela grumbled and groaned as she came to, wiping the blood from her daggers before placing them carefully back into her belt.

"Anyone need a potion?" Anders asked quietly, after he'd made sure that everyone was at least conscious. He passed a couple bottles to Fenris, then to Isabela.

Anya flinched when she felt a hand on her spine, but softened when she realized it was just Fenris. He curled an arm around her waist, offering one of the healing potions to her. She quickly stowed the dagger away and reached to take the potion, but Fenris pulled back at the last moment, his arm leaving her waist and his eyes narrowing.

With his free hand, he took a firm grasp on her right wrist, turning it over so that he could see the long, quickly-healing gash on her forearm. He hissed in a quick breath and turned away, his tattoos sparking to life momentarily.

"Hawke," he began, his voice low and terribly angry.

"Fenris, wait," Anya interrupted, snatching the healing potion from his hand and downing it in a few gulps. As the gash began to heal, she tried to continue, but Fenris shook his head as he turned to glare up at her.

"Blood magic, Hawke. How could you? The very thing that your people are being persecuted for, and you wave it around in the Templars' face like it's something commonplace. You promised never to do that again, Hawke - you said no matter what happened, that was a path you would never take."

"But Fenris, I - "

" _You promised._ " His eyes were more hurt than angry, she now realized.

"I..." He was right. She had said, years ago, that she would never again resort to something so base and so terrible as blood magic. But now, as Kirkwall crumbled around them, as everything she'd come to love for so many years now went up in smoke and ashes, she'd been weak. She'd let the call of blood magic overtake her once again. "I shouldn't have done it. You're right, it was foolish. I... I'm so, so sorry Fenris. But we don't have time to argue about this now, all right? We have to keep moving."

His eyes met hers again, and she tried her hardest to make sure he knew that she was truly sorry. He seemed appeased for the moment, at least, as he turned towards Anders and Isabela and gave a brisk nod, stalking off in the direction of the Gallows.


End file.
